


Did We Travel All This Way Just To Survive?

by MasterKacey



Category: Changeling: The Lost, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Angst, Arcadia - Freeform, Changelings, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Memory Loss, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, True Fae
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29619795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterKacey/pseuds/MasterKacey
Summary: A young Darkling's time in Arcadia, her escape, and her return to a world that she struggles to remember.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

The sun, beating down oppressively on the island, seems hotter and brighter than its been any previous day or hour before this current one. Impossible, yet wholly probable to the sentries that perch atop the ramparts surrounding the plantain. The occasional agonized cry reaches the top of the wall from the workers below, the sound ebbing and cresting as if on a current, yet no soothing breeze comes to abate the relentless heat. Sharp eyes, unhindered by the glare, calmly scan the fields of sugarcane for disturbances. The newer faces among the guard peer down frequently, shifting on sore feet as they stand watch. Some unconsciously cringe at the thunderous sound of enormous wings spreading, as a body dives from the rampart. They flinch and look away as a bawling, begging individual is scooped up from scant cover of the sugarcane. Of old faces and new, no one watches as the attempted escapee is flown swiftly up the roads, delivered back to the Governor. The keen eyes and nigh inescapable tactics of the winged sentinels is enough to keep those on the ground cowed for another undefinable amount of time.

  
An exceptionally striking piece of statuary balances precariously at the edge of the barricade. The unusual stance of the winged female should topple it into the field below, yet it seems to cling to the wall by the curl of it's feet against the stone. An owlish, heavily feathered man approaches the statue, pausing next to it and gazing down into the sugarcane with overlarge, amber colored eyes. 

He speaks, seemingly to himself, in a quiet baritone. "The rumors get to you, yet?"

The statue, previously inert, blinks it's pale green eyes. "Not directly." A subtle ripple of movement goes through the statue's body, revealing the smallest wrinkles to indicate flesh, rather than stone. "If I'm hearing it secondhand, you can bet others are, too." 

The man chances pulling his attention from the field, his head turning on his neck with little effort as he surveys the woman next to him. He allows himself a moment of silent admiration before returning his gaze to his sentry duty. "Aldous, he has some good points." The man's voice lowers even more. "We're meeting to talk things over during the east shift."

The statue, the woman, scoffs in disbelief. "We?"

"They're meeting," He corrects himself. "Whatever. I'm going to be there anyway, might as well listen in." When the woman doesn't reply, he brushes a feathered wing against her back, following up with: "It could be our chance..." 

The woman stiffens, moving further along the wall, making space between herself and the man. "Shit, Keegan," she whispers, reproachfully. "Keep doing stuff like that and we won't need to worry about some flighty Elemental's pipe dream getting us killed." She stretches her own wings behind her, not removing her eyes from the stationary stalks of sugarcane. "Go back to your damned post. I'll see you later."

Despite her rebuff, the corners of Keegan's lips turn up into a small smile. He climbs down from the ledge. "Right. East shift?" His only response is silence, as he seems to be talking to a statue once more. He detracts from his duty again, to glance at the woman on the wall. The sun shimmers and glints off of her, highlighted her pale skin in a nearly painful glare as, eyes cast downward, she nods her head almost imperceptibly. 

Shifts change. Bodies move from one side of the rampart to another, with all eyes remaining on the beings working below. Without any sort of official notice or announcement, several of the sentries seem to group closer together. Some stay just in earshot, a visually safe distance away. All are centered around a windswept gentleman, dressed in baggy clothing. The young Elemental, Aldous, keeps his constant surveillance on the plantation as he begins to speak of his plan. A few sets of eyes glance outwards towards the hopelessly far forest. The Maroon. The only place on the island where the sun doesn't manage to constantly scour. 

A tall, dainty young woman, her skin an iridescent green, speaks up as much as anyone dares to. "Too many eyes between here and there. No one makes it, why the hell do you think we would?"

Aldous doesn't falter. "Times like now, /we're/ the eyes. If we're all in, we've already got the advantage of a head start."

Another voice hesitatingly pipes up. "We don't even know if it's real. The woods there? What if it's not even real?"

"We-" Aldous is cut off by a broad shouldered man, hulking at the outskirts of the group. His sharp beak clicks together as he speaks. "It's real. I saw it when I was brought in. There's people there, too."

A few others offer their input, and a tentative sort of enthusiasm grows within the group. Voices that have been raised dangerously above a whisper suddenly fall silent as one of the stragglers perched on the wall raises herself onto her toes, attention directed down towards a shape attempting to sneak it's way away from those cutting down the tall stalks of sugarcane. The pale, winged woman watches for a moment, confirming the attempt at escape before she dives from the rampart, membranous wings spread wide. As the deceptively strong woman lifts the other changeling from the field, the audience from above quietly disperse, returning to their usual spots on the wall.

  
Another shift. Different, despite no discernable passage of time. The winged woman once more perches with an impossible stillness on the edge of the stone wall. A few yards away, the owlish man, Keegan, stands on taloned feet, his head pivoting back and forth as he watches the working changelings in the field. After a few moments, he shuffles slightly closer to the winged woman, flicking a loose pebble at her with one toe. She rolls her eyes, unseen by Keegan, and reaches down for a pebble of her own, stealthily tossing it back at him. It bounces harmlessly off his feathered shoulder and he chuckles. Shuffling another step closer, he quietly asks "Given any more thought to it?"

The winged woman rests her hands on her knees, frowning as she watches a changeling hack at the sugarcane. "Plenty of thought. It's completely insane."

"Not any crazier than doing this over and over again." Keegan kicks more stone loose from the wall. "Have you thought about turning them in?" Wrenching her gaze from the field, the woman gives Keegan a glare that seems equal parts insulted and guilty. He catches the look from his periphery, holding his hands out in suppliance. "Peace, Tolliver. Peace." In a whisper, he continues, "I only ask because, well, its crossed my mind. I guess both options give people like us even chances of freedom."

Tolliver returns her gaze to her work, responding: "Freedom is a running joke around here."

The pair lapses into a contemplative silence, broken only when Keegan asks, almost pleading, "Come with us, Tollie."

In a disbelieving tone mirroring the one from their previous conversation, Tolliver replies: "Us?"

"Us." Keegan confirms. "Aldous is right, no one knows these skies better than us. No one on this island has a better chance of making it to the forest than we do." He glances towards the Maroon. "If the entire east shift guard takes off, it could be..." he pauses, unable to formulate a time frame, "it could be awhile before anyone sounds an alarm. It's not freedom, but it's the closest that we can grab at right now."

A small wrinkle forms between Tolliver's brows, like a worn crack in pale stone. She sighs lightly, the only bit of breeze to cut through the unceasing heat. "When?"

Once more struggling with the progress of time, Keegan answers her, and confirms: "There's a tally carved into the broken column." He gestures down the rampart with one wing and Tolliver nods. 

A moment later, a sharp whistle reverberates down the barricade, signaling another change in shift. Tolliver murmurs to Keegan, almost too low to hear, "I'll go with you," as she hops down from her perch and starts to move further along the barricade. He catches up with her a second later, his close presence only noticeable as his hand strokes down her arm, briefly and gently squeezing her hand before he moves away and takes his place down the north rampart. 

The hairy, bucktoothed woman in Tolliver's arms is still begging as they begin to descend towards the center of the island. Her calloused hands grip at Tolliver, refusing to release their grasp as the pair lands near the sickly sweet smelling vats. "Please, I wasn't trying to run, it's a mistake, you have to understand!" 

Ignoring the woman's pleas, Tolliver half walks, half drags the other woman to a small lean to. Reaching an cluster of goblins, she pries the woman's fingers from her and unceremoniously pushes her towards their eager arms. A chuckle comes from her left, and a gravelly voice comments: "You're really tossin' em' in lately, ain't ya?" Unable to keep the grimace from her expression, Tolliver turns to the goblin seated at a small table under the thatched roof. Undeterred, the goblin grins back at her. "Keep it up like this, someone might tell the Guv'nor. Ya might just end up on his noice list." He winks at her, laughing at she turns away in disgust.

After a few steps, Tolliver turns back to the goblin, much to his delight. "Boor, I might have some useful information for the Governor." She speaks in a low, secretive tone, a hint of shame in her voice. 

The goblin smirks. "Do ya, now? Thassa first." Boor gestures her closer into the lean to. "Don't suppose ya wanna give this inf'mation in person, do ya?" He guffaws as Tolliver, stepping around to his side of the table, shakes her head hard enough to send her dark curls flying around her face. "Spill it out then, girl." Bending to the goblin's ear and keeping her voice low, Tolliver tells Boor of the east shift's plan to escape to the Maroon, strategically leaving Keegan's name out of it. The goblin listens, enraptured by the young woman's confession. When she's done, he rubs his pointed chin looking up at Tolliver with something like appreciation. "This is good. Good inf'mation." Boor gets up, kicking the chair back and waving Tolliver away. "Go back to work, girl. You'll find out one way or t'other if the Guv'nor is happy with this." Tolliver hastily ducks out of the lean to, spreading her wings and taking flight as soon as she exits the processing field to make up for lost travel time back to the ramparts.

Seven serrated scratches mar the surface of the broken column on the east wall. No single changeling spends overlong glancing at the damaged stone, yet every changeling's attention remains fixed on it throughout their shift. Eyes scan the sugarcane fields, the processing vats, but the surveillance is perfunctory. There's a near tangible tension in the air as the changelings on east shift wait for their cue. 

On his outcropping of stone, Aldous stands up straight, as if spotting a potential refugee. He summons small gusts of winds that fill the loose pockets of his clothing like a parasail, and leaps from the rampart. Instead of diving into the sugarcane, he glides up and towards the black woods of the Maroon. 

For a moment it seems as if he'll be alone in his venture, until the air is suddenly peppered with all manner of flying, floating and gliding changelings. Tolliver, her heart in her throat, making the split second decision to follow suit, vaults herself from her perch on the wall. A doleful hooting next to her draws her attention to a large eagle owl, it's amber eyes making the creature recognizable as Keegan. Fighting to keep the panic from her face, Tolliver observes her fellow sentries in flight, each with a hopeful expression as they leave the barricade behind. All eyes are on the Maroon, which, despite the group's speed, seems to draw no closer. No one notices the increased number of overseers in the fields below, no one is concerned about the abandonment of their post until the echoing crack of a whip cuts the air between the fliers. 

Panic is immediate, as eyes fearfully search the horizon for the many headed whip of the Governor. Ears perk up and twitch, attuned to the sound of the hydra's screech, preceding flames and fury. Instead, an inescapably long bullwhip licks at the air once more, snatching at a young woman with jewel green skin and translucent wings. She shrieks as she's yanked into the sugarcane, the being holding the bullwhip winding his arm back for another lash as she slams into the dirt. Other changelings are hit with projectiles, a hawk headed man taking several spear-like bolts into his stomach and abdomen. Tolliver muffles a scream and he falls past her, into the field, a stalk of sugarcane impaling him through the gut as he lands. She dips and dives, dodging the bodies of her comrades as they're shot and whipped down in droves around her. From the corner of her eye she sees Keegan, seemingly unhurt, his wings frantically flapping as he flies towards her. He's nearly hit by a bloodied Aldous, who drops like a stone, bouncing off of one of the field machines with a crunch and landing limply by the machine's massive wheels. Keegan reaches Tolliver. Shielding his smaller form with her own, she jets a path through the war zone the skies have become, miraculously avoiding injury as she keeps her attention fixed directly on the copse of trees closest to the edge of the Maroon. 

It seems like hours or even days have passed when Tolliver and Keegan are suddenly and brutally thrust into darkness. Tolliver's body hits something solid and unyielding. She yelps in pain, tumbling to the ground and feeling a dull snap as her arm twists under her. Dazed, she lays on her back, blinking up at the bits of black sky seen through towering treetops, willing her eyes to adjust. There's a shuffling sound to the right of her, and Keegan, out of breath, comes into view above her head. "Tollie, are you alright? Can you move?" His lower lip is bleeding slightly, and he has several superficial scratches along his body, but seems otherwise unhurt. 

Tolliver groans and pushes herself into a sitting position with her wings. A sharp pain flares up her left arm, and she hisses in a breath through gritted teeth. "My arm is definitely broken," she comments, cradling the injured limb in her lap. She looks up at their surroundings, at the unbroken darkness provided by the trees above their heads. "Holy shit. We- we actually made it." Tolliver turns her gaze to Keegan, reading the somber expression on his face. "Are we the only ones?" He nods, and she's careful to keep her own expression solemn, masking the worry, remorse and confusion that threatens to expose itself. "We need to hide, they'll notice when they haven't caught us, they'll come in here looking." 

Keegan nods again, appearing mildly shell shocked. Nevertheless, he takes off his overshirt, fashioning it into a sling for Tolliver's arm. "It'll be safer to get off the ground, the cover is better up there." He gestures to the treetops, which hold an ominous silence. The pair walk a ways before choosing a close group of trees, climbing up and constructing a makeshift sort of nest when the ground seems far enough away for them to feel secure. Exhaustedly tucking into each other's arms and wings, Tolliver and Keegan spend their first indeterminable amount of time fearful, semi-frantic, yet somewhat free.

  
In time, it becomes abundantly clear that safety is indeed found in higher ground. As Tolliver and Keegan establish their uneasy refuge in the treetops, the woods around them teem with an irregular sort of life. Beasts and insects large enough to see even from their elevated vantage point creep along the forest floor, occasionally moving from tree to tree, though never close enough to be of concern. Several times, the pair spot what appears to be other changelings traveling through the woods. Keegan watches these people with a wistful sort of expression, Tolliver simply wonders how many more beings are moving about unseen. 

It doesn't take long for the scraps of food scavenged from former work shifts to run out. The pair bicker as quietly as possible, Keegan being vehemently opposed to Tolliver climbing down to search for something to sustain them. "There's no way," he asserts, "even if you didn't have a broken arm, you're not going to put yourself in danger while I sit up here with my thumb up my ass!"

Tolliver rolls her eyes, undaunted as she tucks a folded up burlap bag into the side of her boot. "I'm a hell of a lot sneakier than you, even if I had two broken arms." She affectionately nudges him with a wing. "Besides, no one said you had to stick your thumb up your ass while you wait."

He ignores her joke, his feathered brow forming almost one severe line. Finally, Keegan responds, "Shit." Frowning, knowing his companion is correct, he acquiesces. " Fine. Just...be careful. If anything or anyone sees you, come right back, we'll think of something else." He reaches his hand towards Tolliver's face, gently brushing away a curl of dark hair that falls over her forehead. She seems to contemplate for a moment, before leaning forward and chastely pressing her lips to his cheek. With the a fraction of a second's worth of further contemplation, she relocates her mouth to his own, kissing Keegan for long enough to briefly distract him from his worries. Tolliver smiles as she pulls away, before abruptly dropping from the branch and, after no short fall, landing softly on her feet almost a hundred yards down to the forest floor.

  
Foraging in the Maroon is no easy task, and Tolliver finds it a challenge to stay hidden from the forest's other denizens, while trying to discern what is safe to eat. Using the ever present cloak of darkness to hide the near-luminescent pale of her skin, she tracks a furry, yet humanoid being for some time, taking note of what flora and fauna the being chooses to collect. With her attention torn between tracking the being and hiding her own presence, Tolliver fails to notice the approach of a group of goblins that obviously see her person of interest as their quarry. The furry being stops dead in it's tracks, eyes darting back and forth in a panic before it shrinks down and transforms into a racoon. Tolliver keeps her back to the tree she was passing, keeping every muscle completely still, willing the shadows to mask her to near invisibility as half the goblins take off after the racoon. She holds her breath, petrified as she recognizes Boor leading the group. They pass near her, seemingly oblivious until Boor pauses, inhaling deeply through his flat nose. He takes a few more steps, sniffing the air with a smile that slowly creeps onto his face. Allowing the other goblins to meander through the trees without him, he brushes some moss off a nearby stump and settles down, picking under his nails as he almost casually speaks Tolliver's name. 

From her hiding spot, Tolliver stands stock still, swallowing around the lump in her throat as quietly as possible. The goblin hawks and spits in the dirt before speaking again. "I know you're 'round here, girl. Best to come out and talk to me, b'fore I call the rest of em back to find ya." Against her better judgement, Tolliver steps from the security of the shadows, facing Boor warily. The goblin surveys her from head to toe, appearing pleased. "Little banged up, but ya look better than the rest of your troop, I'd say." He cackles.

Visibly flinching from his words, Tolliver curtly asks, "What do you want from me?" She ignores the suggestive hand gesture that follows her question, keeping steady eye contact with the goblin.

"S'not what I want, s'what the Guv'nor wants. He needs more eyes in here." Boor smirks at Tolliver. "Your eyes have proven perfect for th'job, it just took longer than I thought for you t'come out of your hidey hole."

Tolliver immediately refuses, her expression growing stricken as she comes to a realization. "Is that why.." Her wings droop, matching the dejected slope of her shoulders. "Is that why I made it over here alive? To be a spy for him?" She angrily wipes her good arm across her eyes. "I won't do it again."

Laughing once more, Boor stands on the stump, almost reaching Tolliver's height. "Look at you, talkin' like you've got a choice! Your freedom ain't free, girl." He gestures towards the woods where the other goblins dispersed. "My boys and I can drag you back, if y'want. We all can watch as you get ev'ry square inch of that porcelain skin of yours whipped right off y'body. People know what you did back there. They'll cheer," he grins, seeing the tears silently roll down Tolliver's cheeks, "Oh, you can trust that they'll cheer, watchin' you get your comeuppance." Boor digs in his pocket and pulls out two coins, rubbing them together as he continues. "Or, you can be a good girl." The coins glow brightly between his fingers. "There's plenty of folks in th'woods. All you need to to is follow 'em, befriend 'em, whatever. Just make sure you've got one for us ev'ry four days." He holds his hand out towards Tolliver, one of the coins resting neatly in his palm.

Tolliver stares at the goblin, at the strange token in his palm, for several moments. Wiping at her face again, she steps forward and takes the coin from Boor. The coin grow dim, as she tucks it into her pocket. Boor hops down from the stump and sneers up at Tolliver. "When that starts t'get bright again s'when we'll come find ya. When we come, better hope you've got someone else t'hand off." He bumps against Tolliver's injured arm, chuckling when she cries out in pain, before swaggering away to rejoin his mob.

Some time later, when Tolliver finally climbs back up to the shared shelter, Keegan bombards the other changeling with concern and chastises her on her overlong outing. Writing off her wan appearance as exhaustion, he allows her to rest, while combining the foraged goods into a passable dinner. Keegan insists on making the next foray for supplies, and Tolliver, hand stealing away to her pocket, begrudgingly agrees. The pair sticks to a turn based and reasonable system, allowing for each of them to explore every two days or so. Neither seem to come across any problems for some time in the Maroon.

  
Food is scarce again, and Keegan prepares for his turn to forage deeper into the forest. Tying the empty burlap bag around his ankle, he transforms into a regal looking eagle owl and, with an affectionate hoot towards Tolliver, he flies off into the darkness. With Keegan's absence, the woods surrounding their makeshift camp in the treetop seems eerily devoid of noise. Tolliver goes on alert, letting out a near soundless trill that bounces back to her ears quickly. Too quickly. She manages to get her feet on the branch under her, feeling the vibration of the wood as a clawed creature quickly ascends her tree. Looking down, she sees the familiar, if not loathsome face of Boor. The recognition brings her no relief as the goblin climbs close enough to speak. "Your dues is due, girl." He scrambles up the trunk, long nails gripping the bark with ease. "Running late, we oughta charge in'trest." There's laughter in the dark, down near the bottom of the tree.  
Tolliver, perched in the fork of the tree, spares a quick glance to the woods around her, gauging an escape route. Bright yellow pinpricks of light dance as innocuously as fireflies among the branches, but the chuckles echoing those from the ground quash any hope of fleeing. Her hand steals to the small pocket in the tunic she wears, revealing the brightly glowing token. She inwardly curses herself for losing track of the days. With an expression on her features akin to a cornered animal, she steels herself and faces the goblin as it reaches a branch perpendicular to hers. "I need more time," she implores. "It hasn't been that long since the last one," she continues, unsure how much time truly has passed. The laughter surrounding her is unsettling, near maddening.

Boor crawls closer to her. "You lookin' to bargain? Make some deals with the Guv'nor?" Tolliver tenses, her wings curling up defensively. "That's not an issue, we'll take you right to him. That way, we're all payin' our dues, ain't we?" The pairs of yellow eyelights grow larger, as the vague shapes of the other goblins in the treetops begin to converge on the winged woman. 

A brief glance up and a heartbeat later, Tolliver drops her heels off the edge of the branch and plummets down. The momentary feint is enough to send the goblins further up the tree, rather than the direction that Tolliver's body falls. Hearing the ruckus of the creatures on the forest floor, she grabs at a branch halfway down the tree, her good arm arm wrenching painfully as she swings herself from one tree to another. From above, shrieks and catcalls of equal parts rage and excitement meld with the cries from below, seeming to corral her in a cacophony of tangible sound. Using her wings to compensate for her injured arm as she pulls herself from branch to branch and tree to tree, Tolliver is quickly besieged by the pursuing goblins. Cackling as they take small bites and swipes at her, the goblins allow the chase to go on until a fatigued and bloodied Tolliver tumbles from a low branch, hitting the forest floor with a painful groan. She attempts to climb to her feet, beseeching the darkness itself to come to her aid and obscure her from the goblin's view, but even the shadows seem to have sided with her assailants. 

"Please," Tolliver begs as the horde of goblins approach. "Don't take me back there."

"Stupid, stupid." answers a voice. 

"Don't take me back there!" Mocks another, to more laughter.

"Oughta kill you right here, trouble you just gave us," says an out of breath, sweating goblin to her left.

The smallest, pathetic glimmer of hope comes to Tolliver when Boor steps forward, out of the horde, appearing derisively contemplative. "Y'know, we don't /have/ to take you wit' us." Mumbling from the other goblins. A few smirk, most just continue to chuckle. Wary, Tolliver doesn't reply. He scratches his chin, a few flakes of Tolliver's dried blood from his mouth catching on his nails. "We don't have to take you if you give us someone else. We know you weren't the only one who success'fly flew the coop." Boor smiles, widely and unnervingly. "Guv'nor knows you weren't the only one, too."

Tolliver remains on the ground, her body aching and bleeding in what feels like a hundred different places. The longer she stays quiet, the louder the laughter seems to get. Her reply is barely audible over the cackling of the goblins, but Boor must hear it, because his smile grows so large it threatens to split his revolting face in half.

The light glow that leads Keegan to Tolliver surrounds an overlarge tree, indistinguishable from any other hulking behemoth in the near pitch black forest. Keegan switches the regretfully light burlap bag from one shoulder to the next, ashamed at his lack of success in gathering food for the both of them. His feathered head swiveling back and forth almost 180 degrees, he's already surrounded before he catches the tiniest flicker of movement by one of the tree trunks. Dropping his bag, he's preparing to transform when something jumps onto his back, sinking a significant mouthful of fangs into his shoulder. Keegan swallows down a cry, glancing up at the tree with single minded concern for Tolliver as another creature latches onto his foot. He attempts to silently wrestle the creatures, not wanting to draw attention to the commotion on the forest floor, not wanting to chance putting Tolliver in danger, should she climb down to investigate. More of the creatures come out from the darkness, tackling him into the dirt with their sheer numbers. It's only when Keegan recognizes one of the creatures, one of the goblins from the plantation, that he screams Tolliver's name. He screams it once more, right before the goblin knocks him out, for ease of dragging him back to the plantain. Back to the Governor. 

"Tolliver!" 

Up in the treetops, she hears it, despite clamping her hands over her ears. 

Tolliver remains as motionless as possible, much like when she patrolled at the ramparts. She swaths herself in darkness, so that there's no way Keegan can see her. 

Watching, but refusing to listen. Hearing anyway, but refusing to help. Tears creep from her eyes and she's afraid one might land on him and he'll know she's up here. He'll know what she did.

TOLLIVER!"

She waits until they drag him away. Until they're all out of sight. Somehow she can still hear them mocking her, laughing and calling her name. "Tolliver, Tolliver!" She begins running from tree to tree, her bare feet clinging to even the thinnest branch, her body working in an infuriatingly well manner, considering it's failure to take her from the goblin's grasp just hours before. Tolliver runs until she's sure that the only voice that calling her name is Keegan's in her head. She finds a home high in the trees, making a deal with the night and the cover that it offers. 

The goblins come again, but they don't find her. She sees others pass in the forest below, sometimes even in the trees, but they don't find her. Occasionally she hears her name whispered from the shadows, but they don't find her.


	2. Chapter 2

Shreds of tree bark sift down, right as Tolliver makes the mistake of looking upwards into the darkness of the treetops. She curses as she rubs at her eyes, and a concerned voice travels down to her perch. "You alright?" Movement from above, as a few leaves shake free of their branches. "I'm almost finished, I promise." Eyes watering, Tolliver waits, restlessly glancing towards the forest floor. Dozens of yards away, the ground always seems too close for comfort. After some time, the voice calls again. "Done! Come on up and see." Wasting no time, the pale, winged woman ascends, her long toes clinging to the trunk of the tree, the tips of her wings working as pitons to anchor her as she climbs. 

About forty feet up, the branches pack in densely, a natural camouflage to the denizens within. Strung between two trees is a webwork of thick vines, forming a hammock of sorts. Resting in the middle of the hammock is a young man, avian in appearance, with large amber eyes. He smiles at Tolliver, pride apparent in his features. "What do you think?"

Tolliver looks over the hammock, the burlap bags containing the pair's belongings hanging from a branch above it, and finally Keegan himself. Impressed, she attempts to put on a false front of scrutiny as she replies, "Looks like it'll end up breaking while we're both asleep." Fighting a smile, she touches her toe to the vines carefully, almost daintily. "We'll probably end up impaled halfway down the fall to the ground."

Narrowing his eyes, Keegan leans forward, grasping Tolliver by the hips and pulling her into the hammock. The webbed vines creak and bounce slightly, but support the impact. Kissing the young woman's neck, her cheek, and finally her lips, Keegan counters with, "Do you really think I would let anything hurt you?" Another kiss. "Even unwittingly?"

Pressing her cheek into the warmth of Keegan's palm, Tolliver replies, "No, I..." Her words trail off, as the feeling of contentment and comfort fade slightly. A hollow chasm seems to open in her gut. A sense of dread, or perhaps something else entirely. Keegan chuckles, hearing the audible gurgle of Tolliver's stomach, pointing out the food bags that hang over the hammock. Her throat suddenly foul tasting and dry, Tolliver gives Keegan's hand an affectionate squeeze before climbing up to the bags. Delving into the burlap, a dull throb starts in her temples, competing with the now-substantial ache in her belly. She pulls out a piece of fruit, a fresh plum, its skin a deep and flawless shade of aubergine. Despite the pain in her stomach, Tolliver's mouth waters. She puts the plum to her lips, anticipating the snap of the fruit's ripe skin and the burst of juices just centimeters away from her tongue. Raising her eyes, she sees Keegan shouting something at her, desperately gesturing towards her, but it's as though all sound has been dampened down to nothing, replaced by desire for the food in her hand. Tolliver bites into the plum, and her mouth fills with acrid, bitter fluid that burns her lips and seems to force itself, nauseatingly, down her gullet.

Clinging perilously to the branch between her legs, Tolliver retches, just missing her own feet as she vomits reeking bile down the side of the tree. Exhausted, dehydrated and half delirious, she leans back, resting her head against the rough bark. Several times she calls a name into the empty treetops, between fluctuations of weeping and dry heaving. 

About an hour passes, and Tolliver's attention is drawn to the branch above her, to the burlap bag that holds the sparse amount of food in her possession. The bag shakes slightly, swinging as it seems to move of its own accord. Tolliver whimpers, cowering below as she fears the worst. The movement of the bag stills at the frightened sound of its owner, until a small, startled creature pops his head out of the top of the bag. Flattening herself against the tree, Tolliver timidly inquires, "Are you real?"

Crawling out from the bag, the creature peers down at Tolliver. He scratches at his unruly mop of brown curls, his wrinkled face appearing confused as he replies "No, I'm Teobin.

"I," Tolliver squeezes her eyes shut, reopens them, then rubs her face. "Please don't take my things," she says, her voice fractionally more confident. "They're all I have and I," abruptly, she gags, groaning as she vomits again.

The creature, Teobin, watches her for a moment, then with a sudden understanding, digs back into her bag, pulling out a plum. The fruit seems overlarge in his small hand. "You've been eating these haven't you, little bat?" He shakes his head, pityingly. "These are poison for your kind, they is. Good for the ones like me, but... eurgh." Teobin grimaces as another stream of waste and bile spews from Tolliver's mouth.

Tolliver weakly raises a hand, indifferently wiping at her mouth. "I didn't have anything else to eat." She coughs, the dry skin of her lips splitting slightly. A bead of blood wells on her bottom lip and her tongue darts out to steal away the scant bit of moisture. "I'm so thirsty."

The fruit still in his hand, Teobin flaps his arms in frustration. "Jeezus, you ain't got any water, either?" He points to the bag. "You've got fruit you can't eat, couple of dead bugs, some feathers, NO water and a handful of gribnuts!"

Struggling to hold herself upright, Tolliver replies, "Listen. You," she pauses, swallowing down a belch. "You said you eat that fruit, right?" She stares up at Teobin, somewhat desperately. "Take it. Take all of the fruit in my bag. You can have it if you help me find water." After a second, she adds, "A source of safely drinkable water."

Teobin grins, his hands in the burlap, already eagerly claiming the plums and passing them into his seemingly bottomless pockets. "Aw, don't worry about tiptoeing through your words there, little bat. I'm not gonna do you dirty, I'm a family man. I've got to be a good example." He hands down Tolliver's now significantly lighter bag. Eyeing up the young woman, Teobin comments, "You gonna be good to travel? If you end up taking a tumble, all I'm gonna be able to do is wave to you on your way down."

Tolliver nods, slipping the bag over her shoulders as she climbs shakily to her feet. After taking a moment to get her bearings, she gingerly lifts herself onto the branch Toebin stands on, the limb somehow not bowing or drooping despite the significant addition of weight. "Lead the way," she requests.

After a tremulous trek through the treetops, Toebin abruptly halts, pointing downwards at a clearing where a small stream winds between sprawling roots and wide patches of briar. Tolliver, albeit exhausted, immediately begins her descent to the ground. Toebin jumps from branch to branch, following after without difficulty. "Wait! Wait a damned minute!" He grabs onto a limb next to the young woman. "You don't want to rush down there without paying attention." He appears relieved when Tolliver stops, balancing on a branch and wrenching her gaze from the flowing water to wrinkled face before her. "Just about everyone in here needs water, so bet that you're not gonna be alone whenever you come around here. Bet that close to nobody's gonna be as nice as I am, too."

Out of breath, a light layer of sweat coating her pale skin, Tolliver nods. Her voice cracks slightly as she simply replies, "thank you" before continuing back down towards the ground, moving far more carefully.

Toebin watches her with something like concern in his wrinkled features. The concern turns to impressed amusement as the pale, winged woman seems to be swallowed by shadows halfway through her descent. Despite his sharp eyesight, he's no longer able to get even a vague sense of her whereabouts. Chuckling, he scurries back up the tree and heads back towards his family.

A silvery gray animal skitters from branch to branch, lifting up chunks of bark and pausing to consume the insects underneath. The possum-like creature hops towards a knot in one of the limbs, stepping over a vine that dangles through the leaves. With a quiet snapping sound, the vine cinches shut around the animal's back legs, hoisting it into the air. Caught in a snare, the creature lets out an indignant squeal, fruitlessly struggling to free itself.

After a moment, a pale, winged woman emerges from the dark of the upper treetops. As she approaches the trapped animal, its fanged mouth opens, speaking human words, imploring to be released. Burlap bag over her shoulder, Tolliver falters slightly, her hands stopping midway from reaching towards the snare. The moment of hesitation seems to incite the hanging beast, and with a small growl, it swings forward and claws at her face. 

Tolliver yelps in pain and surprise, pressing her hand to her wounded cheek. Defensively, she strikes out at the animal with a wing, the taloned tip of the extremity catching the beast under the jaw and puncturing it's throat. Upside down and thrashing, the animal quickly bleeds out, becoming limp on the end of Tolliver's snare. Tugging her talon from it's neck, she wastes no time untying the vine from it's feet and carrying the body higher up the tree. 

In the dense growth of leaves that serves as her current nest, Tolliver sets her kill on a wide branch that juts out like a shelf. Above the shelf hangs similar trophies. She pulls a leather canteen from her bag, and peels a handful of moss from the side of the tree. Soaking the moss with water, she dabs it onto the wound in her cheek, cleaning off the dirt and staunching the seeping blood. Satisfied, Tolliver takes a gulp of water, following with a few handfuls of fragrant, star shaped nuts, before turning back to the deceased possum-creature. Holding the animal steady with her hands, she uses the sharp talons tipping her wings to skin and prep the carcass, preserving the pelt and innards along with the meat. She follows this process with all of the hanging bodies as well, working for hours, silent and alone, adapting to this new solitary survivalist way of life.


	3. Chapter 3

Rumors spread, even to those that perpetually conceal themselves. New faces passing through the plantation were common enough, new faces in the Maroon are reason to put most of the forest's denizens on high alert. The two changelings that entered the copse of trees from the beachside were large and menacing, at least from the point of view of the small, winged woman carefully watching from her covert vantage point high in the treetops. They explored the wooded area with confidence, their voices traveling upwards, not quite clearly enough to be heard. Tolliver resists the urge to move any closer, her fear of being noticed overwhelming any desire to overhear the pair's conversation. She continues to see the two changelings off and on over the next two days. Unlike herself, neither of them aim to avoid being noticed. If anything, they seem to be be attempting to draw attention, going as far as stopping to talk to the scant few changelings that cross their path. Tolliver hears enough to learn that the tall, metal fleshed woman is named Helga. The densely furred, bearlike male doesn't speak much and both changelings have a strange red dust that coated their clothing.

Eventually they run into a young man with skin like obsidian, and horns that curl into his pale white hair. Recognizing the man as one of the Maroon's older residents, Tolliver quickly swallows down her last bit of drone cricket, and, while careful to blend into the shadows, climbs further down the tree to eavesdrop. Perching on a branch several yards above the other changelings, she grows as still as a statue, rendering herself practically invisible as she catches the end of their discussion.

The woman, Helga, speaks with certainty. "You'll need to spread the plan around as much as you can, so as many of us are prepared as possible."

The Marooner replies, "I can do that, I'm good at getting the word out." 

Helga nods. "One of ours will be one the beach tomorrow, he'll let you know more about when the boat should get here."

"Right." He pauses. "How do I know this isn't just a trap?"

"You don't, but what other choices do you have?" The bearlike man grunts in agreement with Helga's statement.

"Good point."

Tolliver's brow furrows as she listens in, a sense of deja vu coming over her as the changelings below discuss some sort of an escape attempt. As if by instinct, she feels the desire to creep off to the plantation, past the sugar cane and into the processing area where the Governor presides. Staring down at the two strangers and singular familiar face, she ponders the possibility of bargaining her own freedom with this information. She listens further, her heart thundering almost audibly in her chest. 'These conspirators aren't just planning an escape, what they're planning will certainly destroy the plantation, maybe even cripple the entire island. If I bring this to the Governor, maybe he'll set me free, maybe he'll...'

As invasive as the thoughts of being a betrayer, the faces of Tolliver's former comrades fill her mind. Worse, the unknown fate of her closest companion weigh heavily on the conflicted woman. Not bothering to conceal the sound of her hasty retreat, Tolliver bolts back up the tree to her nest, hiding out with her guilty thoughts as her only company for the remainder of the night. 

The next day, against her better judgement, Tolliver finds herself skulking back towards the perimeter where the woods meets the beach. On her way there, she spots the horned man, the other Marooner, making his way down the path. Viewing his face from a closer distance, she recalls the rumor of his dealings among those that live in the Maroon. Somewhat rashly, she jumps to a tree in his eyesight and calls out, "Headed to the beach?" He pauses, looking up at her with an unconcerned expression. Tolliver climbs down a few branches lower. "You sure you're not just planning to sell out those folks you were talking to yesterday?"

His eyes narrow as he studies her face. Almost dismissively, he replies, "Haven't I seen you literally dragging people by their necks back to the Governor?"

Tolliver flinches back, as if struck, watching the man as he continues on his way. After a few moments, she lifts her chin, climbing back up out of sight and moving towards the same direction. She catches up with the horned man in the middle of what sounds like a disagreement with another changeling sitting at a table. The changeling behind the table is at least seven feet tall, with slate gray skin and troll like tusks jutting from his lower lip. The left sleeve of his dusty reddish shirt hangs empty, his arm missing from the shoulder. The trollish man seems to be attempting to explain something to the horned man, but is either too stupid or too forgetful to properly do so. He gestures to some holes in the sand, and the horned man's frustrated expression almost matches Tolliver's unseen confusion from her spot in the trees. 

As the horned man's frustration begins to shift to anger, until another man walks over. This man is thin almost to the point of frailty, his hair a charred mixture of white blonde and black, his clothes also covered in red dust. He places a hand on the troll's shoulder. "Trog, it's alright, why don't you keep digging the trenches?" The troll, Trog, shrugs and trudges across the sand. The spindly gentleman turns. "I'm Vicrum, you're here about the boat?" 

Nodding and gesturing to himself, the horned man replies, "Kyler, and yeah, that's what I was trying to tell your buddy over there."

Apologetically, Vicrum explains, "Trog isn't the best at communication."

"What are the trenches for?" asks Kyler.

"For when the vats are turned over," Vicrum replies, simply.

Tolliver listens to this exchange, studying the men below her as they speak. When Kyler mentions the trenches, her eyes turn in the direction of the plantation, tracing a path to the beach. She finds herself speaking up after Vicrum's answer, without consciously doing so. "The trenches will collect the boiling syrup as it rolls down the beach. They'll serve as a sort of inverted dam to prevent it from reaching the boat." As Kyler and Vicrum both stare up in the direction of her voice, Tolliver drops down from the tree, landing with a light thump in the sand. Off Kyler's judgmental look, she directs her question to Vicrum. "Do you all need help digging the trenches?"

With a brief appraising look, Vicrum nods, seemingly unconcerned by the pale, winged woman dropping unannounced into their conversation. "You can help Trog."

Before she can second guess herself, Tolliver rushes down the beach and, with a brief greeting to the one armed Trog, begins burrowing into the sand, digging with both hands and wings.

  
Through the crimson clouds that surround the island, a vessel approaches. Not unheard of, almost a common sight to those trapped and operating on the plantation and the Maroon. However, when this specific vessel draws closer, appearing as an impossibly colossal canoe, the newcomers to the island, tactically placed, all take it as some sort of a signal.

In the sand, another red dust covered man, his body sturdy and rocklike, joins Trog and Tolliver, hastily covering the shore with long, deep troughs. Tolliver frequently peers over the edge of her trench, either staring in disbelief at the approaching boat, or nervously towards the plantation.

In the darkness of the Maroon, Kyler gathers Marooners, his whispers reaching those high in the treetops from his spot on the forest floor. Few respond, wary of a known turncoat, simply watching the horned man from their hidden spots in briar and branches.

Murmured plans pass among those stationed in the tall stalks in the sugarcane field. Voices are kept low enough to be lost in the sounds of the sentries shouting orders and the groan of the cane being rolled up the hill. Those trusted with tools keep them on the ready, eager for the chance to use them as weapons.

The middle of the island, where the heat from the enormous vats of boiling syrup warps the air, seems to remain unaltered. Kneeling changelings, their skin burning like flames and embers, hold the vats upon their backs. Circled around the rims of the vats, others consistently stir the liquid, sweat running down their faces, blisters forming and breaking on their hands. Most wearily lean on their wooden paddles, and it's barely a surprise or shock when an exhausted changeling slips, falling forward into the scalding hot sugar syrup. The others continue stirring as the syrup turns a deep cherry red, and a tall, metal fleshed woman takes the place of the fallen. Helga's muscles flex as she stirs, the large woman hardly straining as she gazes around at the surrounding plantation. Her paddle strikes the side of the basin, and suddenly the all the vats tilt, as those holding them up rise from their knelt positions. Helga and the stirring changelings take a step back, using their paddles to help overturn the vats of syrup.

Hysteria ensues as the boiling liquid begins to flood the processing area. Taking point, Helga breaks for the path leading to fields of sugarcane, shouting for the others to follow. Changelings are caught in the flood, screaming in agony as their flesh is scorched off their bodies. Most manage to outrun the liquid, making it into the sugarcane as the fieldhands rise up against their overseers and join their desperately fleeing comrades.

The colossal boat scrapes up to the shore, just as the sounds of panicked shrieks begin to travel down to those on the beach. Crawling out of a trench, Tolliver stares towards the center of the island, mouth agape. The stalks of sugarcane teeter and fall as the flood of boiling syrup advances closer. Changelings and other creatures begin to pour out of the field en masse, cutting through to the Maroon on their way to the docked boat. Kyler emerges from the perimeter of the trees, ushering several changelings along as he anxiously glances at the coming flood of people and destruction.

A handsome, dark haired changeling with pointed features begins to unroll a rope ladder from the top of the boat. He shouts to Trog and the other man digging in the sand, "We need to start getting people on the boat!" 

On the ground, Kyler points his gathered group towards the lowering ladder. Tolliver hightails it down the beach, leaping onto the side of the boat and rappelling over the flat surface with the ease of one walking across a street. The handsome changeling raises an eyebrow, quickly tossing another rope ladder at Tolliver. "Alright, Trenchgirl. Make yourself useful." He secures his own ladder as a group reaches the bottom of the boat. Hands shaking, Tolliver nevertheless unrolls the rope in her hand, tying it to the side as it unfurls towards the shore. On the ground, Vicrum, Kyler and Helga assist the injured and continue to corral people towards the boat. 

With the flood overtaking the plantation and heading for the Maroon, changelings begin to hurriedly board the boat. An ear splitting roar fills the air, as the sky fills with the massive, hydra-like whip that all denizens of the island recognize. Those already on the boat cower against each other. The rush to climb the ladders becomes a surge, as almost every being below seeks the only possible escape from certain death. Tolliver scales the mast to the crows nest, wings wrapped protectively around herself, her expression terrified as she moves her gaze from the dragon headed whip to scan the crowd below, seeking out any familiar faces.

The skybound whip slashes down onto the island, the heads breathing fire. Voices cry out as the boat shakes from the impact. In the distance, smoke rises as a portion of the plantation ignites. With just a half dozen changelings left on the shore, the mood on the boat is tense. Kyler approaches the handsome changeling. "Why aren't they getting on? We need to go before that," he gestures towards the whip and it's unseen bearer. "kills us all!" The other passengers murmur their agreement.

The handsome changeling shakes his head, leaning over the side of the boat. "We're not done, yet."

Another thunderous screech, and the hydra-whip cleaves the woods that form the Maroon in two. With it's infamously nightmarish tool clutched in it's hand, the Governor stands amongst the broken trees, it's incomprehensible form cowing those on the boat into a petrified silence. Facing the Governor on the shore, stand Trog, Vicrum, Helga, and their three comrades. Before the Governor can raise it's whip again, the rocklike man and Trog lift a huge boulder from the perimeter of the Maroon and, with unbelievable strength, heave it at the advancing monstrosity. It roars in fury and pain, moreso as the scalding flood reaches it's feet. The changelings on the ground move behind the trenches as they slowly fill and cool the liquid. 

The Governor lashes out with it's whip, the dragon head's once more breathing fire. The rocklike man jerks his arms up, and a large wall of sand and rock forms, shielding the changelings against the blast. Furious, the Governor strikes at the group. The whip catches Vicrum across his midsection, sending him careening into the broken off stump of a tree. The stump punches through his chest and he hangs there, limp. 

"Vic!" The handsome man leaps over the side of the boat. He turns to Kyler, grimly watching from the stern, and Tolliver, her hand over her mouth in shock, instructing, "If we don't come back, tell the boat to take you to Vermont." He hops down the rope ladder and immediately darts over to the unmoving Vicrum.

On the shore, Helga watches the man leaving his post and curses, "Shit! Felix!" As the Governor winds it's arm back for another lash, he's hit by a bombardment of bodies as Trog, the rocklike man and the bearish man attack. Helga's metal form, now covered in almost foot long spikes, crashes into the Governor. The all out onslaught is enough to distract the Governor out of using his hydra-whip, as it's knocked back further into the plantation. They continue their assault as Felix quickly but carefully cuts Vicrum down from the tree. His expression is a sort of forced composure as he carries the other man across the sand to the boat. 

As Felix reaches the bottom of the ladder, Tolliver hops down from the crows nest and nudges Kyler. Calling down to Felix, she directs, "Hold him and grab the ladder, we'll pull you up." Kyler, looking dubiously at the woman's small stature, nevertheless begins lifting his side of the ladder. Tolliver hoists the two changelings with a surprising amount of vigor, immediately digging through her bag as Felix sets down the unresponsive Vicrum. "We," her voice cracks, and her hands shake as she starts to clean around the branch jutting from the man's chest. "We need to keep it in there, it'll keep him from," she says the next two words barely above a whisper. "bleeding out."

Below, the besieging changelings are tiring, as the Governor begins to shrug off their attacks. Falling back slightly, a dark skinned man with pale eyes and the rocklike changeling gesture at the Governor. A thick cocoon of ice and rock forms over it, trapping it inside. Without delay, the group surges forward again, this time pushing the enveloped Governor across the plantation, towards the other side of the island. The dark skinned and the rocklike man follow, reinforcing the cocoon as they progress. 

The passengers watch from the boat, Tolliver and Felix still working on the gravely wounded Vicrum. As the group on the ground manage to push the ball of ice and rock containing the Governor into the red clouds on the other side of the island, some of the changelings on the boat tentatively cheer. "They're coming back," reports Kyler, and Felix's expression becomes fractionally relieved. 

The group is nearly to the shore when a shuddered cry breaks the hush that's fallen over the former denizens of the island. The cry is joined by several of its kind, as the passengers on the boat see a large, round shape rising from the crimson clouds on the opposite side of the beach. A loud crack, like ice falling from a glacier, echoes through the air. 

Immediately, Helga and the bearlike man turn to move towards the action once more. The other two men balk, with a safe retreat as the closer option. Trog seems torn, only agreeing to abandon the renewed fight when a harrowed Felix calls down, "We need to get Vic out of here!"

As the group swiftly climbs the rope ladder, another crack rings out. An arm breaks through the cocoon, and in it's hand, the dragon headed whip. As the ice begins to melt, the whip elongates, seeming to stretch to an endless length. "Oh my god," gasps Tolliver, as she stands trembling next to Kyler. "It'll hit the boat." Bringing up the rear, Trog and Helga scurry up the ladder as everyone braces themselves for the inevitable impact.

Before the ladder is pulled up, before Felix can direct the boat to take off, before the whip can strike, a gargantuan figure rises behind that of the Governor. The figure dwarfs the ball of ice and rock, looming over the island like a god. It's face is bestrewn with eyes of different shapes and sizes, robbing the being of any facial expression or visage. It lifts it's hands, clasping the cocooned Governor betwixt them. On the boat, the passengers scream and beg for Felix to take them away. The terror is palpable a the sight of this Fae creature, somehow more frightening than the changeling's own keeper. 

Felix and his comrades are distracted, as the sight of this many-eyed being sends Trog into a frenzy. It takes every hand to hold the one armed troll back, to keep him from launching himself off the side of the boat and back onto the shore. A thundering voice reverberates across the island, as the being seems to be speaking to someone unseen. "If I do this for you, will you love me?" There's no audible reply, but after a moment, the gargantuan being brings his hands together, crushing the ball containing the Governor. 

Shock, confusion, even some hesitant relief is heard in the voices that mumble amongst themselves. "Hold him!" Felix directs him comrades, detangling himself from Trog and heading to the bow. He gives the boat a command, and with a lurch, they depart from the island. 

There's no way to tell how much time has passed, or how far the boat has traveled in the hedge. While most are used to food and water being limited, some find that their memories become scarce as well. The atrocities suffered on the island fade, as does any semblance of self. The injured remain injured, with no further access to medical supplies or sign of refuge on the horizon. With no sign of the horizon, in fact.

Tolliver perches precariously on the side of the boat, anchoring herself with one arm, stretching a wing out to scrape off some fungus growing on the wood planks. Collecting a sizable chunk, she brings it to her nose and inhales deeply. Rubbing the light beige fungus between her fingers, her stomach gives a hollow growl of hunger. Tentatively, she puts a small piece on the tip of her tongue and holds it there, her mouth filling with a mealy, although not unpleasant flavor. After about five uneventful minutes, she swallows. Taking a larger piece, she bites into it and swallows it down as well, counting to 1,800 before returning to the side of the ship. Tolliver painstaking collects the paltry fungus from the wood, until there's nothing left. Approaching Felix and the dark skinned man, Muhammat, she shows them the fungus. "This is edible, and unless it's incredibly slow acting, not poisonous. You guys can hand it out to the people who have run out of food."

Muhammat looks over the fungus, tasting a small piece. "Not awful. There's not a lot of it, we'll have to ration."

"I, um," Tolliver pauses, appearing almost unsure. "I can probably help with that, too. If it works." Passing the basket to Felix, she places both hands over the chunks of fungus. A cool breeze lightly washes over her arms and hands, and the fungus swells, growing to triple its size. 

The basket nearly buckles in Felix's grip. "Shit. That's useful. Thanks, Trenchgirl." Ignoring the winged woman's scowl at the nickname, he passes the basket to Muhammat. "Make sure Vic eats something." In a quieter tone, he adds, "Try to get Trog to eat, too."

The aforementioned one-armed Trog simply sits near the front of the boat, staring off into the ill defined surroundings. A large man, his face already shows the slight shadows of malnourishment. Seated near him is what appears to be a large boulder, but to those who have paid enough attention during their travels, is recognizable as Louie, the rocklike man.

Kyler makes idle conversation with Braugh, a fire elemental from the processing area on the island. The two decline when the basket of fungus is offered to them, wanting the ailing and infirm to have the first pick of available fare.

The food is passed out and eaten with gratitude, as the boat continues it's seemingly endless journey. 

"Trenchgirl! Come down here!"

From her spot in the crows nest, Tolliver rolls her eyes, having come to terms with the nickname she no longer understands the significance behind. She leaps from the top of the tower, landing softly on her bare feet in front of Felix, Kyler and Braugh, giving the latter two a mildly inquisitive look.

"We're sending you guys off." Felix gestures to a smaller canoe, just off the side of the boat. "It's safer not to drop you all in the same place."

Peering nervously at the canoe, Braugh replies in his heavily accented voice, "That is safe for us to travel in?

Felix nods. "You just need to tell it where to take you. We have a guy waiting for you all to get there, you'll be fine."

"Where are you guys going once you drop everyone off?" Tolliver looks over at Vicrum. "We owe you our freedom, and I'd like to at least know you guys made it out alright, too."

With a sad attempt at a smile, Felix responds, "Work's never done." He pats the small canoe. "Hop in." Tolliver, Kyler and Braugh climb into the canoe. Leaning over the side of the boat, Felix's handsome face becomes forlorn, all signs of his cocky, confident demeanor gone. "Listen, when you get there, I have a..." A pause. "Could you pass a message to someone? His name is Liam. Could you let him know that I'm ok? Let him know that I miss him, and I hope he's still waiting for me. I only have one tour left and I," His voice cracks. "I can't wait to see him when I get out." 

Braugh looks uncomfortable, Tolliver overwhelmingly pitying. It's Kyler that finally speaks up, replying, "Yeah, we can definitely do that for you."

"Thanks." He unties the rope holding the canoe to the larger boat. "Tell it to take you to Spoon. He's one of us. A Margrave, but not a Green Mountaineer." Felix give the trio a solemn nod. "Good luck."

The canoe bobs there for a moment, and the three changelings sit awkwardly until Kyler simply says, "Take us to Spoon." Unlike the barely noticeable movement of the boat, the canoe jets through the hedge at terrifying speeds. Thorns and briars whip past, as do flashes of cities or perhaps entire other worlds. Tolliver, Kyler and Braugh hold onto each other with vicelike grips, heads spinning, waiting to either reach their destination or be sent flying to their deaths.

With a jarring wallop, the canoe lands on red, hardpacked clay ground, splintering into pieces that disappear from sight as soon as they settle. 

"Ouch, my ass," groans Tolliver. Braugh lets out a similar curse as he climbs gingerly to his feet.

Kyler, brushing the dirt from his pants with a wince, peers at their surroundings. "Where the hell are we?"

Appearing out of the darkness itself, is a lanky, long haired man, a bandana wrapped around his head and thick red dust coating his clothing. He gives the three a brief once over.

"Hey newbs. Welcome to Vegas."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the writing style changes a little from this chapter on. The first three chapters were backstory, and everything after is based off of events that happened during game sessions, written out as linear as I could make them.

"It'd be nice," Tolliver starts, giving a small smile to an older woman who begins staring fixedly in her direction, "to actually be able to check these out and not have to sit in here all day and read them." She sets a stack of books down next to Kyler's computer.

Not averting his eyes from the screen in front of him, Kyler distractedly replies, "Where else would you read them? Denny's?" He types for a few moments, pulling up another screen to reference from. "IHOP?"

Tolliver sighs as she takes a seat beside him. She pulls a book into her lap from the top of the towering pile, peering over at the screen in front of Kyler. "'Encryption' has a 'y' in it," she corrects, snorting and opening her book as he impatiently strikes the backspace key. 

The pair of Darklings - Tolliver: dark haired, pale and winged; Kyler: white haired, dark skinned and horned - appear to those passing through the Vegas Library that morning simply as two young scholars, barely noticeable as they pore over their coursework. Despite what their most recent friend and confidant had mentioned regarding a plethora of fellow changelings in Las Vegas, neither Tolliver nor Kyler had met any other fae beyond those that lead their own courts. After a few hours of reading, Tolliver laments this fact, punctuated with the cover of her book slapping shut. 

"It's not that I don't mind hanging with Spoon and Braugh all the time," She nudges Kyler with a wing. "or you," she adds. "But, it would be nice to meet some other folks. Maybe some other Autumn court? Maybe the king and queen? They're in your court, you know."

Kyler, a natural chill radiating from his skin, seems uninterested. "Are they? I had no idea," he deadpans. Catching Tolliver's pouting, forlorn expression, he closes a few tabs on the screen and turns to look at her. "Yeah, I guess meeting some other people would be... fun." His attempt at enthusiasm falls flat.

Stacking her books in a neat pile, Tolliver shrugs a shoulder. "I know you don't like big groups of us. Or big groups in general. Or us, in general." She drops her voice slightly with each 'us'. "It's not a big deal," she adds, dismissively. "I'd like to, I dunno, at least be able to remember where the hell we came from. What happened to us, you know?" Abandoning that train of thought, Tolliver pats the sides of her oversized sweater, frowning. "I'm out of pocket snacks. You hungry?"

"Guess it has been over twelve hours since we actually ate dinner." Kyler checks his own pockets, counting out a few crumpled bills and some change. "Enough to split a breakfast slam at Denny's." He shuts down the computer and stands.

"Sounds like a plan. Help me reshelf my books." The two split up the pile, and most ears in the library unconsciously tune into Tolliver's words as she remarks: "Thank god Delores gives us free coffee."

Tolliver's stirring the third or fourth packet of sugar into her coffee, humming along with the song playing on the speakers above her head. "I think I'm starting to be able to tell what time of day it is based on what playlist they have on in here." She takes a sip from the steaming mug, sputtering slightly as she scalds her mouth.

Chewing halfheartedly on the last piece of toast, Kyler stares off towards the entrance of the restaurant. "Denny's has playlists? I'll have to download one when I have my own computer, for the Denny's experience on the go." He swallows the dry bit of bread, watching an attention grabbing trio approach the hostess. "Huh," he comments, as the trio is seated at the booth behind Tolliver, the walls separating the seats blocking his view. 

At Kyler's seemingly innocuous 'huh', Tolliver's attention focuses the changeling across the table from her. "Huh?" Her dark curls bounce wildly as she takes a brief visual survey of the restaurant. "What are you huh-ing at?" 

Her inquiry is quickly answered, not by Kyler, but by the words coming from an irritable sounding voice behind her. "...went to go become a fucking true fae or something, and Maze went back to Arcadia. She willingly went back to the keeper. It's just us and..." The voice continues it's tirade, it's owner either unknowing or uncaring how far their words carry.

Eyes wide, Tolliver mouths the words: what the fuck, and stares at Kyler. The pair attempt to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation held by the irritable individual, and two quieter people sitting with them, mildly alarmed when the irritable individual speaks of: 'watching Vegas burn'. After a few moments, a young woman, a human, with bright blue hair rises from the table and heads to the bathroom. Kyler points to himself, to Tolliver, then to the door. Tolliver shakes her head, holding her mug to her lips, head still tilted towards the other table in hopes of catching the conversation. The blue haired woman, on her way back to the table, seems to notice Kyler and Tolliver. As she sits back down, the other table abruptly grows silent. Kyler mouths: let's go, and, setting her jaw stubbornly, Tolliver once more shakes her head. 

There's movement at the table behind them, and both changelings turn towards the man stepping up to the head of their table. The man seems to be the embodiment of a living, breathing Pinocchio. His face and limbs are sanded wood, his eyes moving too smoothly in their sockets, as if on a slide. The smell of syrup and liquor seem to waft from him in waves. "Haven't seen you kids around before," he says, as if in greeting. The blue haired woman peers around the side of the booth, but says nothing.

Kyler simply stares at the other man, taking a drink of his coffee, likely to avoid speaking. Tolliver places her own mug down, smiling brightly at both people. "I'm Tolliver, this is Kyler." Her voice is unnaturally captivating, drawing the wooden man and blue haired woman's attention as she continues. "We've only been in Vegas for about a week." More quietly, she adds: "We've only been /out/ for the same amount of time, actually."

The man returns Tolliver's smile and gestures to himself. "I'm Woody." He jerks his thumb towards the woman." That's Annabelle, and Daisy's on the other side there, probably eating the rest of my hash browns." There's a clatter of utensils against a plate from the other booth. "D'you guys have someone showing you the ropes, or?" He leaves the question hanging.

Once more Tolliver picks up the conversational reins. "We hang around with Spoon, he's a Margrave, like the guys who got us out. He doesn't really come out on the strip much, though." She pauses, looking to Kyler. "So, we haven't really gotten out on the strip, much."

Without much hesitation, Woody casually says: "You both could come along with us for awhile, if you want," prompting several different, but simultaneous replies:

Tolliver's "Sure!" is short, but no less enthusiastic.

Replying more to Tolliver than to Woody, Kyler immediately says: "Uh, no."

Finally emerging from the booth, a man in a slightly rumpled suit, white daisy petals for hair and the hint of greenish veins just under his skin, gives an exasperated sigh and a drawn out, irritated: "Whaaat?"

Annabelle remains quiet throughout the cacophony of feedback, giving Daisy a once over before continuing to gaze suspiciously at the two strangers. 

Woody scratches his head for a moment, looking around at the gathered group. "Yeah. So, if you guys want to come with us?"

Tossing some cash onto the table, Daisy shakes his head and looks to Woody. "Unlock the truck, I'm going to New York." He stalks off, Annabelle following after. Woody waits behind, staring at Kyler and Tolliver. 

Despite Kyler's annoyed look, Tolliver slides out of the booth and looks back at him with an appeasing expression. "C'mon Ky, what else do we have to do? Hang here for another three hours?" She bounces slightly on her toes as Kyler climbs to his feet, towering over the shorter changeling. "Please?" Tolliver adds.

Frowning, Kyler places his hand on the top of Tolliver's head, halting her bouncing as he sighs. "Fine."

"Alright, lets go, kids." Woody leads the way as the three of them exit the restaurant. Pulling a flask from his jacket, he offers it to Kyler and Tolliver as they cross the parking lot. Walking over to a non-descript, unpainted SUV, he opens the passenger door, pausing to take a drink.

Tolliver, appearing mildly confused, glances into the empty interior. "Is 'New York' code for something, or are we driving cross country?"

Laughing, Woody stows the flask away. "Hell no, not again. We're cutting through the Hollow." Off the other changeling's confused expressions, he explains, "Just say: 'god damn it, Woody' and step through the door. I'll do it first, so you guys can see how it's done." He climbs into the passenger seat, before adding, "Don't forget to lock the doors once you get in." Closing the door, Tolliver and Kyler hear his muffled: "God damn it, Woody," through the window, and watch as he steps through the closed door. Instead of somehow ending up back outside of the SUV, he disappears from sight.

"Fuck. Can we just leave?" Kyler asks, appearing almost nauseated by the bit of magic before them. "They don't even really want us with them."

A stark opposite of Kyler, Tolliver, fascinated, pulls the passenger door open and promptly climbs inside. "You can't be serious, Ky. This is awesome! Especially if this is going to take us across the country, to /New York/, in less time than it takes for the waitress to take our order in there." She gestures towards Denny's. She starts to close the door, then swings it open again, narrowing her eyes at Kyler. "You better not ditch me."

Kyler exhales overdramatically as Tolliver also disappears into the door of the SUV. After a moment, he begrudgingly climbs in after her, pausing only to hit the door lock before directing his frustration towards Woody and stepping through the door.

The Hollow, as Woody called it, appears to be a decently sized yurt, settled in the Hedge, between Arcadia and the human world. A small cooking and dining area sits in the center of the Hollow, with several bedding areas, sectioned off by curtains. Various weapons, articles of clothing and other personal effects give the yurt a lived in look. Tolliver and Kyler hardly notice what would be a pleasant or welcoming space, the pair being too preoccupied by the copious amounts of blood stains pooled and smeared along the floor. Noting their fixation, Woody's smile becomes somewhat forced, his voice sounding almost brittle as he comments: "Been meaning to get all that cleaned up." As Tolliver averts her attention enough to peek out the door leading further into the Hedge, Woody quickly pipes up: "I wouldn't go out that way, we haven't figured out if the resident bearpeople are friendly or not."

"Noted," replies Tolliver, closing the door. 

"We'd better catch up with Daisy and Annabelle." Grabbing his keys, Woody walks over to another door, and after a moments scrutiny over a few similarly sized keys, slides one into the lock. Instead of opening to another area of the yurt, or perhaps the twisting thorns of the Hedge, the door opens to what looks like a storeroom or a restaurant. Woody ushers the two changelings through, shutting the door behind them. The air smells of spices, of hot meat and vegetables. Tolliver and Kyler, used to sharing meals or skipping them altogether, look yearningly towards the sound of dining and murmuring voices. "That's Stu's Stew out there," Woody explains. "I'd take you all through, but," he trails off as they reach a side door marked: EXIT.

The three of them spill out onto the sidewalk, in the snowy streets of Queens. The air is filled with the sounds of honking horns and thudding stereos as cars drive by, skidding wheels in the slush. A teenager, somehow able to navigate a motorized scooter through the icy terrain, yells out: "asshole!" towards Kyler as he zooms past the group. Tolliver shivers, pulling her sweater around her, staring, impressed at a small group of streetwalkers, still scantily dressed despite the frigid temperature. Still waiting for a taxi, Daisy and Annabelle turn to acknowledge the others as Woody addresses Tolliver and Kyler. "How does it feel to be a part of it?" he asks. When neither changeling replies, he continues in a horrible mockery of Frank Sinatra: 

_"New York, New Yoork!"_


End file.
